


Thrice (Part 1 of Thralls of the Hall Series)

by BroltaAMaga



Series: Thralls of the Hall [1]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Anal Play, F/M, Love, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 03:26:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13204863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BroltaAMaga/pseuds/BroltaAMaga
Summary: Some more of my LoveSmut... a three part series.This one is between Hvitserk and a young servant, so there's some dub-con there, but I promise, one of my big themes is love overcoming that social construct, even in Viking times. Hey, it's fantasy, right?In this one, Hvitserk and a servant, Eira, (you can sub in Y/N if you want. I wrote this before I learned about that) finally come together after something scares him enough to take the next step with her. He battles internally with being a strong Viking and opening himself up, being vulnerable with her.





	1. The Ruse

“Eira,” Hvitserk whispered, pulling you into a dark corner of the hall, trying to find a spot he could keep the other men’s attentions off of you for a moment. They’d been pawing and eyeing you all night as you refilled their horns with ale and you were happy for the brief respite. 

You were also glad it was the third Ragnarsson prince privately worshipping you now with roving hands and hungry eyes now. He was your favorite and any thought or mention of him around the village always sent your body aflame. You put your pitcher of ale quickly down on a ledge nearby, and moaned as his hands snaked around your waist and he pulled you into a kiss. You kissed him back, feeling your muscles warm under his hands and joints go loose with ecstasy. So far, all the two of you had been able to manage was quick, grasping little sessions like this, kisses and exploring hands. 

He seemed different tonight, hungrier. Maybe it was the thrill of a victorious battle earlier fueling his passion for you, you wondered. You knew he was a skilled and courageous fighter, it was well known throughout Kattegat… Hel, it was known throughout Norway and you smiled at the thought how every time you’d heard that, you imagined how skilled he was in bed as well. The two activities were very similar, you mused... some expertise and training was helpful, understanding and watching your partner was crucial, and passion went a long way- often tipping the balance in whether or not the experience could be deemed successful... but unlike battle, sex could have two victors, you thought with a thrill, imagining the glory you'd feel making Hvitserk come. 

He pulled away just then from your lips, chuckled softly at your disappointed groan and satiated your need for him by running his hands over your breasts through your linen dress. And then as if he’d read your mind, he answered your question of the origin of his intensity tonight. His hands dropped to your waist and for a moment, he seemed the closest thing to shy a Ragnarsson could ever be. You cocked your head at him, curious. 

“I had a close call today in battle, Eira. Closest I’ve ever had.” Your eyes widened at his confession and he smiled. “Don’t worry, it wasn’t THAT close.” You smiled, knowing it was hard for him as a Viking man to admit he was weaker than an opponent or maybe made a mistake but then your heart skipped a beat at the thought of him actually dying in battle. The thought of a Saxon sword penetrating that beautiful, powerful body of his made some look flit across your face that Hvitserk instantly registered and his deep green eyes softened at you. 

“Anyway, it was just a small moment where I was exposed, the Saxon pig was actually a very good swordsman, best I’ve ever been up against and had he been a tiny bit quicker, he might have made a real dent." 

He smiled then, his eyes cocky and teasing, but you knew that his bravado meant it had been much closer than he cared to admit. You smiled back bravely, squeezed his forearms that you’d been stroking. He sighed at the sensation and reached to squeeze one of your hands. “It was exactly this, Eira, the thought of never having you touch me again, and me never getting to take you to my bed if I’d been…” he couldn’t even say the word killed and you realized with a sick sensation in your middle that it had been VERY close. 

Out of respect for his honor, you tried to keep your face nearly neutral, conveying just enough concern to let him know you loved him, but not make him think that your respect for his ability had been lessened. 

And how could it ever, you thought. Battle was a horrible reality, built so much into Viking life that you had to accept it... Hvitserk was a valiant warrior, but you knew the reality was grim, having lost a father and an cousin, countless friends to battle. And your brother, Einar, lost an arm in a raid last Spring. Einar had been one of the strongest warriors and a loyal Viking. The disfavor of the gods might fall upon anyone but you would never doubt Hvitserk's manhood. 

Hvitserk's hand slid up around to the back of your neck then and he pulled you to him, touching your forehead to his and staring intensely at you. “Right after I killed the Saxon and stood over him, I decided. I must have you tonight. Completely.” You sucked in your breath at that and both of your hands went to him, pulling him closer to you so that the full lengths of your bodies aligned and pressed hard against one another. “I need you to say yes, Eira.” His eyes burned into yours. “Yes,” you whispered back. “Oh Gods, yes, please.” It thrilled you that he wanted your permission. He buried his lips into your neck, sucking, giving little love bites that sent a jolt to your feet. But it was what he said next that sent another thrill straight to your core, the spot between your thighs you now knew he’d fill tonight. 

“I know I’m not your first, but I intend to make such a mark on you tonight that you never want to take another lover. I’m going to make you come three different ways tonight, Eira.” Your breath caught in your throat at the thought, his hands, tongue, cock, all bringing you to bliss, and you started to melt into his arms, but the joy was cut short by a shriek that pierced the hall. You spun around, out of your would-be lover’s arms, from behind the small wall of the alcove he had pulled you behind. 

You knew that voice. It was another slave, Runa, your best friend. 

You scanned the crowd for her and your hand went to your mouth, to cover a scream of your own when you saw her. She was pinned facedown to the table next to a spilled horn cup and under the arms of a very angry Ivar. Tears sprung from the corners of her eyes as he cruelly twisted her arm as she tried to stand. “Oh gods. Runa, just stay flat,“ you whispered, trying to will her to not move. Ivar would snap her arm like a twig if he wanted to. You didn't presume to rise above your station very often, but now you wished for stature great enough to demand Ivar let her up. As Runa sobbed, pleaded, you even wished for a moment that you were a Viking warrior and could stride over there and knock him flat onto his crippled ass. Hvitserk was your hero then though, quickly pulling you back behind the wall and pushing his way through the men to the table where Runa lay. He shouted and smacked his hand on the table near her face. Now all of the Vikings in the hall that hadn't paid attention to her shriek stopped to watch.

“Slave, what’s your name?” he angrily demanded. She stuttered, tried to sob it out and Hvitserk grabbed her up to face him, jerking her out from under a shocked Ivar. “Brother, I-“ he snarled, but Hvitserk ignored him, swiftly slapped Runa across the face. Ivar looked momentarily appeased, although slightly irritated he hadn’t gotten to punish her himself. You watch from your hiding spot, slightly confused, but knowing Hvitserk must have a plan and a slap from him was way better than anything Ivar wanted to do. “I said, what’s your name?!” Hvitserk spat out, his eyes blazing at her. Runa stuttered out her name and Hvitzerk took her by the shoulders, shook her roughly, growled at her. “Runa. My shirt isn’t even dry from the ale you spilled on me earlier, you clumsy bitch!” 

Runa gaped at him, stupidly opened her mouth, about to protest she hadn’t even served him earlier, but Hvitserk yanked her hair hard, silencing her and she shut up. You furrowed your brow. He'd been on the other side of the room all night, nowhere near Runa. You knew. You'd been watching him all night feeling the heat grow in your body whenever you caught a glimpse. What was he… then you remembered the full jug you’d been holding when he grabbed you. It was still on the ledge, but when you looked and saw it was half full, your heart soared at your prince’s ruse. You poked your head back out around the wall of the small alcove and watched the rest of his performance. He turned slightly and sure enough, you saw the front of his tunic was soaked with ale. The entire hall now was silent, enthralled by the spectacle and no one noticed you. 

Hvitserk, still holding a trembling Runa, turned to Ivar. “Brother, your battle plan today was genius and you shouldn’t be wasting your time punishing a clumsy slave. You should be covered in women right now who bring you ale, meat and bury their pretty mouths in your lap!” The other Viking roared with laughter, cheered heartily. Ivar frowned, considering. Hvitserk quickly continued. “I don't deserve praise or rewards tonight.” He pulled open his leather vest to reveal a stripe of blood on his white tunic, above his hip. The men leaned in to appraise the damage and a few women gasped. Your heart leapt in terror at the sight of his injury, the one that nearly got him killed. “Let me attend to the lowly task of punishing her, while you enjoy what you deserve as the leader of our Great Army!” 

He motioned for two slaves to come over, both beautiful with their hair loose and their bodies curvy. “Girls, shower this Viking warrior, this battle genius, this son of Ragnar Lothbrok with your attentions. If it weren’t for him, the battlefield might be littered with more of us instead of Christians!” He spat on the floor and the room roared with appreciation again. Ivar actually smiled. It was a vicious smile, but he was at least entertaining the idea. One of the girls slid into his lap, offered him a turkey leg while the other refilled his cup and then whispered in his ear. He nodded and she slid a hand under her companion’s ass to grab at his manhood . He growled, bit ravenously into the meat, swallowed quickly, then attacked the lap slave’s bosom with the same hungry fervor, making her yelp in pleasure as he clamped his mouth onto a nipple through her dress. The Vikings cheered again and returned to their celebrations. Ivar, not even looking at Hvitzerk or Runa anymore, raised his other hand to shoo them off. Hvitserk winked at Runa, grabbed her roughly and she played along, whimpering and sniveling as he led her out of the hall. You exhaled slowly, relieved for your friend. 

They walked right past you on the way out the door and Hvitserk was careful to not draw attention to you. He caught your eye for just a second, mouthed “stay!” and you slipped further into the shadows, feeling a rush at his command. You hoped he would come back quickly and make good on his promise. You reached for the pitcher and gulped straight from it. If you couldn’t have Hvitserk wet your lips and satiate you right now, the ale would have to do.


	2. The Lynx

After a few minutes, but what seemed like ages, you began to worry. What in the name of the Gods was he doing out there? Had Runa’s tiny, curvy body enticed him and he’d forgotten about you? Your heart clenched at the thought and then another thought snaked into your mind. The crowd of Viking celebrating out in the hall was raucous, thoroughly entertained with women and drink, but what if someone meandered over here and found you? Any man right now that stumbled over here and found you hiding would assume you were ripe for the plucking and could take you right here up against the sacks of grain. Or even worse, what if Ivar found you? He was smart, terrifyingly acute and you knew he probably knew Hvitzerk favored you, and knew you and Runa were best friends. 

You shuddered to think of what Ivar would do to you if he ever figured out the trick played on him tonight. You closed your eyes, tried to breathe silently and nearly shrieked when a hand slid over the curve of your ass. Your eyes flew open, grateful to fall on your beloved Hvitserk. He stood near the alcove but not in it, kept his eyes on the room of his fellow warriors. He raised his hand in greeting to someone, nodded. Then without still looking at or drawing any attention to you, he whispered out the side of his beautiful mouth. “My room.” He slid back slowly to the wall, then was across the entry way from you, nearly ten feet away and once hidden, he finally met your eyes. He held up his palm and mouthed "Wait." You nodded, a bolt of lightning shooting up your back from the look he shot you. His eyes were so heavy and hot with want, you felt like you could nearly come right there without him even touching you. 

He disappeared then and you forced yourself to count to a hundred before quickly following him into the shadows. Your heart was pounding, wondering if anyone had seen you, was following you. You hustled as quietly and casually as you could down the back hallway to where the Ragnarssons rooms were. Hvitserk’s thankfully was the furthest away from the hall and you smiled knowing he’d tear loud noises from you tonight. You knocked lightly on the door and after a few aching moments, he opened it just wide enough for your slender form to fit, grabbed your arm and pulled you in. It was dark in the room, just a low fire in the small hearth, and your eyes adjusted to find him. The thunk of him sliding the door bolt home behind you made your body tingle all over and then more as he pressed himself up against you from behind. Sweet gods, you thought in a daze as he rolled his hips against you slowly… he was so thick and hard you could feel him through the layers of his pants, tunic and your dress as he pressed himself against the cleft of your behind.

“What took you so long?” you breathed, tossing your head back onto his shoulder and he reached around and stroked the front of your body, kneading your hips, sliding his palms firmly up against your ribs and then cupping your breasts in his hands, giving them a simultaneous squeeze and making you suck in your breath. He leaned in, purred in your ear. “Hm? What did you ask?” You smiled at your body’s ability to steal his focus so easily. You whipped around in his arms and demanded, as firmly as you dared, “I said, what took you so long?” He chuckled, ran his hands up along your jawbone and then taking fistfuls of your red hair, plundered your mouth with a kiss. You pulled back, which was more difficult than you’d thought, but again pressed him for answers, half teasingly. He opened his eyes, curious as to why you’d stopped kissing and grabbing at him, then realized, as your eyebrows shot up that you wanted answers. 

“I had to whip Runa,” he said nonchalantly, shrugging, suppressing a grin.   
He leaned back in for the rest of his kiss and tried to grab at your hips again. You knew he was teasing, toying with you, knowing your love for your friend was strong and his seeming apathy would infuriate you. 

You had to admit too, the thought of her alone with him in a barn, ass upturned, was unbearable. The intensity of your jealousy surprised you and as he cockily pulled you into him again with a brazen smile, you shoved him away without thinking. You weren't very strong but he wasn't expecting it and his back hit the door. He oofed out a surprised breath and his eyes clouded over slightly with shock at your bold move. He stood there considering for a moment, giving you a moment to quake. You were torn between feeling remorse and anger and could tell he was struggling with anger at your dominance but then also amusement at your jealousy. Thankfully, he took your shoulders in soft, slow hands. You reluctantly let him, but your eyes flashed with a warning that he’d better have a good explanation. 

He did. 

“Think, Eira. This is Ivar we’re dealing with. You KNOW he’ll check her tomorrow for bruises.” His eyes softened then at the sympathetic look in your eyes for your abused friend. He opened his arms wider for you and you reluctantly slid into them. You were filled with shame for doubting him and daring to push him away earlier. He was trying to protect your friend. He pulled your chin up gently, his eyes warm and you decided here it was a good thing he could read your face so easily as he saw how honestly apologetic you were. 

“I took her out to the barn and we actually struggled trying to figure out what would hurt the least, but still appease Ivar. She knew I had to do something and the whipping was her idea, actually. She said my slap was actually pretty painful, so she didn’t want another… “ He smiled a sly smile. “But we found that I’m skillful with a belt… I can make some decent welts with just a good sting to them, not really hurting or wounding tender skin…” Your blood throbbed in your center at the thought. Hvitserk’s eyes danced when he saw the excitement in your eyes and you now cursed your inability to keep anything a secret from him. He reached down and grabbed at the loose end of his belt, grabbing it and stroking the length once as if it were himself, smiling wolfishly at you. You both lunged for each other, mouths crushing, hands grabbing. He ran his hands through your long, loose dark red curls, groaned. “Gods, Eira, your hair. It’s so beautiful…” he trailed off, burying his face in it and inhaling deeply. 

“Does Runa have a nicer ass than me?”   
“Impossible,” he breathed, reaching around to cup yours appreciatively in both hands and chuckled into your neck. He caressed your bottom in his hands sweetly for a moment, but its muscular curves must have overpowered him for he was suddenly rucking up your dress roughly to feel the skin. It was the first time he had actually touched any part of you not covered by clothes and you moaned at the feeling. You wanted to feel his skin under your hands now and you pulled back just enough to pluck his wet, stained shirt in your fingers. 

“I really should launder this for you, my Prince,” you teased in nearly a whisper. He chuckled again, his breath hot on your neck, then he nipped at the tender skin making your knees turn to water. He’d said he was going to mark you tonight and you knew you already had small bruises on your neck for sure.   
"You can take it off, darling, but if you try to chuck off to the river to wash it right now, I’ll have you over my knee.” You both chuckled, he kissed you hard then, the thought of his spanking making you dizzy. You pushed him back again, but this time lightly, with just one finger. You slid his studded leather vest from his shoulders and then reached for the hem of his tunic, carefully avoiding the wound at his hip. You pulled the shirt over his head and breathed out a thankful sigh seeing the cut was not deep and had stopped bleeding. You traced your thumb gently near it. Hvitserk’s palm slid long your jawline tenderly and you looked up into his deep green eyes with your light blue ones.   
“I was faster.”   
“I’m so thankful.”   
“But I don’t want to be fast tonight. I’m going to take you slowly, as slowly as I can possibly manage, Eira.”  
You smiled. “For that I’m thankful too.” 

You were also glad you could now take your attention off his wound and enjoy the rest of what his shirt had covered. Hvitserk allowed you to take a few moments to let your eyes and hands travel over his bare torso. He was not the largest Viking, but his muscles were those of a quick, agile warrior, packed tightly beneath his taut skin, like a cat. 

That was it exactly, you mused. While some Vikings were built like bears or large wolves, Hvitserk was like a lynx. He was stealthy, prowling, and his muscles were lean. As your fingers ran over his arms and chest, you could feel they were coiled, ready to spring at a moment’s notice. You enjoyed the tension, the power you could sense in them now as he was poised ready to pounce on you but you also wanted desperately to make those muscles turn to liquid beneath your touch. You made it your silent goal to have this warrior, your warrior, melt in your hands. 

And pounce he did just then, no longer able to take you just staring at him. He pulled you to him with both hands hard on your hips then reached up to the back of your neck for the ties that held your dress up. You smiled at the way the fabric caught on your curves as it slid down, easily skimming off your narrow shoulders, hitching on your breasts, sliding over your small waist but getting hung up on the swell of your hips. Hvitzerk noticed it too, tugging it along over the contours, his eyes wide and his tongue licking his bottom lip. As it finally fell to the floor, he took it upon himself to kiss each delicious area your dress had paused on, first taking your breasts in both hands, pushing them together and burying his face in the valley his hands had created. Next he fell to his knees, ran a line of kisses along your belly, forcing your hands into his hair and you pulled his braids into your fists as he dragged his tongue from one hipbone to the other.


	3. No Touching

“I believe I promised I’d make you come three ways tonight, no?” 

You tried to say “yes my prince,” confidently, but found you’d lost the powers of speech and gaped at him for a moment before clearing your throat and squeaking it out. He chuckled into the soft, amber curls at the junction of your pale thighs. He delved an exploratory tongue stroke within and you fell back against the door, grateful for its solidity. Your head clunked against it and he chuckled again. “Don’t make this too easy on me, Eira.” Your knees buckled as he circled you expertly and you moaned. “You’re just- just so good, my prince.” He pulled away for a moment, your core aching at the loss of the pressure. “Promise me something, Eira.”  
“Anything,” you pant.  
“When you come, I want to hear my name on your lips. Not my prince, not sir.” He looks up at you and you nod weakly in agreement. He smiles, returns to his work. 

You remember vaguely overhearing one of the other slaves talk about his talented tongue, how she’d come in less than two minutes once when he’d stolen her away from baking bread. She’d protested, told him it was almost done, would burn and he’d taken it up on himself to rush her to her own hot burn before it did. The other slave had giggled and said he’d snuck her off once to the barn, and made her come so hard, she’d startled one of the young horses and he’d busted through the door and ran through the village. He may have been celebrated among the men of Norway as a fierce and skillful warrior, but in the kitchens, in the back rooms of halls, to the slaves he blessed with his mouth, he was a champion of kissing women where it mattered most. 

You found your heart clenching at the thought of him with other women and amazingly, inexplicably, Hvitserk sensed your sadness, felt some minute loss of interest, and pulled away to look at you. He kissed your inner thigh, squeezed your hips and asked what was wrong. 

“Nothing, really,” you’d lied, trying not to upset him, but he stood then, searched your eyes for an answer. You couldn’t lie another moment and looked at your feet as you answered. “I have heard other slaves talk of your um… talents at what you were just doing and I just hate it. I’m sorry.” Hvitzerk kissed your lips lightly then, took your face in his hands. 

“Eira. I know you’re not a virgin either. It’s not something I want to think of but, well, I guess it’s just our lot in life, isn’t it?” You snorted at that, then quickly bit your lip, ashamed to again think you could laugh in the face of a Ragnarsson. 

He wasn’t mad though, thankfully, kissed you again. “I haven’t been with anyone in weeks, not since you and I started, started, well after that first day I noticed you in the market.” you closed your eyes, smiled dreamily at the memory of first noticing his eyes on you. You’d been simply crossing the square back to the hall, nodding respectfully or amicably at people who passed. Everyone was rushing around, attending to business as always, but Hvitserk had been leisurely leaning up against a beam to a market stall, eating an apple, eyes intently focused on you. You were amazed he'd gone three weeks without having a woman, that had to be a record for him by at least double.

“You were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, Eira,” he chimed into your memory. I’d asked Ubbe immediately how I’d ever missed you. I thought you might be some sort of a spirit, suddenly placed here, just visiting, because the thought I’d overlooked your body, your hair…” he trailed a slow finger through a curl again, gave the end of it a small tug that sent a jolt through your scalp. You smiled, but then tilted your head at him. 

“But I’ve been here all along, sir. And yes, unfortunately as a slave and so other Viking have had me before.” Hvitserk pursed his lips in thought. “And I don’t care. I'm lucky enough to have you here, warm in my hands now, I have you at the mercy of my tongue, and the prospect of you under my fingers…” he leaned in and kissed a long, slow line along your collarbone, making your breath catch.  
"My cock will be buried deep inside you later…” you felt his smile curl against your skin…”hopefully…” 

You giggled. “Hopefully?” He dropped back to his knees, paused an inch from you. “Just enjoy where the gods have placed us now, Eira. Tonight, and hopefully more, you’re mine and I’m yours to enjoy.” He pressed his mouth to you again and you arched your back against the door, feeling instantly the whisper of your release creeping up through your bones. 

You realized he was simply a creature of impulse, a man who loved pleasure, giving and receiving it, and you needed to focus on that, enjoy that. It wasn’t that he didn’t love you, didn’t enjoy you because he noticed and had kissed and fucked other women. It was that you were irresistible, beautiful and desired. For now, you told yourself just surrender to it, ignore your pasts, and think about all possibilities later. 

The instant you surrendered to simply enjoying the moment with him, any barrier to pleasure disintegrated like a handful of sand in the wind. Your ears registered the sound of a primal, low groan and you vaguely wondered how he could make that noise while his mouth was so busy working on you below. Then you realized as a jolt of pleasure shot through you, the noise was yours. Sensing your start, Hvitserk’s hands held you tightly on the hips, pushed you back against the door. The pressure built quickly since you could barely move to relieve it. His mouth hummed moans against you, his tongue darted almost randomly it seemed around your nub. Your breath caught and you soon saw a burst of white stars, and cried out indecipherable sounds as you came against his tongue. He moaned against you, flicking his tongue against you until you sagged in his arms. He drew one last lap up the length of your opening, making you shudder and whine. You were vaguely aware you hadn't said his name as he asked, but he seemed pleased enough with the fact he'd completely rendered you unable of making any actual words. 

For a moment, you felt like you might pass out and gratefully leaned against his arms as he stood. You felt his hardness press against your thigh and it jolted you back to reality. He wiped your juices off his chin with a thorough swipe of his flat palm, the sight sucking the air right out of you again. You pressed your lips to his in an urgent kiss and he acquiesced, but then chuckled at your whimpering fervor for your own taste. You’d never tasted yourself in a man’s kiss before and the honey sweet tang surprised and enthralled you. He pulled back, nodded at your wide eyes, grinning, understanding. 

“I know. You’re pure nectar down there, Eira.”

Your head cleared and you felt a sudden boldness come over you. “Your turn.” His eyebrows shot up. “What?” you purred. “You thought you get to have all the fun, pleasuring me?”  
You grab his hand and revel in the sight of his eyes, surprised, then enthralled as you led him to the bed, place a finger on his chest and push him down. Hvitserk sits, reaches around, grabs your ass in his hungry hands, but you slap them away. 

“No touching,” you breathe, daring to give him a command and feeling a thrill pulse through you as you do. He wouldn’t take many commands from a thrall, but his eyes dance with amusement as you realize this is one he’s glad to excuse.


	4. Make Us Equals

Hvitserk's sitting on the furs on the edge of the bed, bracing himself casually on his palms. Emboldened by his allowance of your demand to not touch you, you reach behind him, lift his hands, cross them, and gently push him on his back. He groans, his arms crossed and pinned underneath him. He narrows his eyes at you, unsure if he likes this feeling. You smile hungrily at him and him biting his lip makes you feel more powerful than you ever have in your nineteen years. You untie the leather laces at his waist and shuffle him out of his pants. He groans at the release as his erection springs free. You toss his pants to the side, lick your lips at his girth and length, feeling challenged to take it all into your pretty little mouth. 

Against what Hvitserk advised earlier, your mind goes back to the first time you ever did this, age fifteen, to a young Viking named Erlend. He was strong, handsome, experienced and took you under his wing. You were an eager, shy young thing, and he’d been patient with you over a few nights, showing you how to pleasure him with your mouth on the first. On the second, he’d pleasured you with his fingers, his mouth then on the third night. On the fourth, he'd taken your virginity gently, on a bed of warm furs by a fire. You’d felt like a princess, a goddess to him and he’d taught you how to make a man, even now a prince, fall to his knees under your hands. 

He’d taught you how to seem eager, but to prolong pleasure, how to tease without frustrating and you set to your enjoyment of Hvitzerk with many of his teachings echoing in your head. You kissed the base of him gently, reached down to cup his warm balls in your hand, letting a finger dare close to his asshole, but quick and far enough to make it seem like an accident so as not to challenge his manhood. “The area is packed with feeling, but too taboo for most Viking,” Erlend had warned and you’d nodded, eyes wide. “Dance near it, dart around it and any man will be liquid beneath you,” he’d breathed. He'd joked then that the older the Viking was that was taking you, the more daring you could be and the longer you could linger. The older you got, he explained, the less you give a shit what young slaves thought of your perversions. He snickered then and told you then that if it was ever Geir the Grey taking you to bed, you shouldn’t waste any time and just shove your finger right on up. 

Sure enough, when your index finger hinted close, Hvitserk hissed a breath through his teeth and the muscles of his thighs clenched beneath your breasts. You set your fingers gripping around his base and lips to his tip, letting your tongue first draw playful circles around it, tasting the first salty drop of his excitement on the second loop. “Take him into your mouth in one slow, long draw," Erlend had instructed, "relaxing your throat muscles, and sucking out all the air to increase the pressure. Show him one, that you can take all of him, and two, make him feel like the largest man in the world,” Erlend had sucked in his breath as you'd looked up eager for his approval and performed the maneuver perfectly. 

“Fuuuuuuck,” Hvitserk had echoed appreciation for your skill just then as you did it to him and you fought against the proud smile that threatened your mouth, knowing it would break the suction. One of the best tips Erlend had given you was the smaller the man, the longer you had to take with that first draw into your mouth. It made them feel huge and when dealing with Viking men whose entire existence revolved around manliness, this seemingly minor detail could make an entire night change for the better. Small cocked men were often violent and cruel, used to being laughed at or feeling the sting of not being able to satisfy a woman… but you’d learned that making them feel huge from the first touch could alter an entire evening and have the most bitter man purring in your arms. That little detail wasn't applicable here though, Hvitserk being neither small nor cruel. 

You let one last lesson of Erlend’s filter into your mind before you released him, wanting to focus entirely on Hvitserk. “Keep your pace and performance varied,” he’d said “fast, then slow, gently then hard, direct then teasing.” You dismissed Erlend then with a loving, nostalgic farewell. He had died in a raid a few days later, and you’d wept for weeks, missing his gentle touch and caring ministrations. You decided the best way to honor him and his loving first touches on you was to pass them on to the man you loved now, the man you wanted to please like no other, your Hvitzerk. You glanced up at him then, and couldn’t believe he’d let you pin his arms like that. He squeezed your hands hard, arched his back against the restraint and you were sure you’d never seen anything as sexy. He’d said earlier he was going to do things to you tonight that would make you not want any other men and with his submissive, ecstatic form beneath you, you were sure of it. 

You reached up, grabbed his hands to further ensure he couldn’t move them and he moaned a low, long, animalistic sound then. The only movement he was allowed was that of his hips and he bucked them into you, fucking your mouth desperately. You steeled yourself against your gag reflex and thanked the Gods when he groaned and shot his warm load against the back of your throat. 

Before you’d had the chance, he half-snarled, half-begged “Let me watch you swallow,” and you nearly did out of shock and excitement at his command. 

With his last bit of energy, he ripped his hands from underneath himself, bending your fingers so you let out a muffled, mouth-full yelp. He sat up, grabbed you roughly under the arms and jerked you up to him, inches from his face. Right as his face came up to your level, he pulled your hair brusquely out of your face, twisting it in one hand. He narrowed his eyes and nodded, so you locked into his gaze and disposed of his seed down your throat. You licked your lips slowly as he groaned in appreciation and flopped back to the mattress. He released your underarms, dropped you beside him. You drew a finger along his chest then leaned into to kiss his ribs to let him know it was okay he needed a breather, a rest. He relaxed, chuckled. You let him enjoy it for a moment, then curled into him, brought your lips to his ear. “That’s one for me and one for you, my prince.” You loved the slow smile you brought to his lips as he recognized the hint of teasing challenge in your voice. He tried to move to kiss you, but fell back onto the mattress, defeated.  
“Just give me another minute, my sweet,” he breathed, the whisper of a laugh on the edge of his plea. “You’ve destroyed me.” You smiled, fell onto your back, enjoying the feeling of your ribs touching his. 

Your hand that had been on his chest dropped down, and after a few moments, he opened his eyes, raised his head and looked over at you as you stroked yourself lazily.  
“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, the power in his voice returning to almost full force.  
“Just entertaining myself until you’re able,” you teased, keeping your voice casual. He paused, sniffed in a deep breath and you enjoyed the moment as it hung in the air, Hvitserk struggling with the enjoyment of watching you touch yourself or the draw of showing you he was perfectly capable of taking care of that himself. He deftly found a way to do both, rolling to his side so as to view you better, and simply reaching over to pinch one of your pink nipples.  
“Don’t you dare make yourself come with those long fingers, Eira,” he warned as you squirmed and began breathing more heavily. “It isn’t even my own fingers on me, sir, it’s the thought I have two more climaxes you promised me,” He swiped your hand away from yourself then, swapped them out for his own. “I don’t have to give them to you, you know.” He traced a firm circle over you, mirroring your movements perfectly from earlier and it sent a jolt though you how closely he’d paid attention. 

“Are you ready for the second?” he questioned after a few minutes, drawing a firm two fingers up your now-slick entrance. You closed your eyes and nodded, expecting him to and reveling in the prospect of him continuing to circle his fingers on you. To your utter shock and awe, he moved swiftly on top of you, kneed your legs apart and thrust his length into you. You gasped, locked your legs around him, pulled back slightly, futilely trying to protect the very spot he had just buried himself entirely within. Your eyes widened as he closed his eyes and sucked on the fingers he’d just dipped inside of you a moment ago. 

You hadn’t been quite ready for the rush of his girth, his length, but you’d found yourself vaguely proud of yourself for accepting his unexpected enormity as well as you did. As he thrust hard and slow into you though, you found yourself almost shrieking out a protestation and he slowed. He pulled you to him, grasping handfuls of your hair to bring you closer, deeper into his kiss. Your body warmed, liquified, welcomed the earlier intrusion and you sighed against his kiss. 

Hvitserk grabbed both of your hands and pulled them above your head.  
You locked your elbows as he used them to lever against you, thrusting hard. He played with the angle a bit until he felt you subtly shift and writhe under him, then he settled into that tract, repeating the movement until you were breathless, panting in his ear. Just when you thought you might explode around him, he pulled out abruptly. He knew, he could tell, curse him. You shuddered, whined like a child and he patted your hip gently in assurance before flipping onto his back and guiding you above him. 

You slid gratefully onto the length of him, this time your inner walls already wet and ready for him but nonetheless shocked at his size and the new angle. Hvitserk rocked up into you, put his hands on your hips.  
“This isn’t quite within the rules of my promise, as this angle allows you more control, but fuck, Eira, I knew you’d look so amazingly beautiful perched up on my hips, I just have to let you.” 

You smiled down at him, reveling in those heavily lidded jade eyes of his as he soaked you in. You rolled your hips, enjoying the new sensation. Hvitserk reached up, cupped your breasts in his hands and drew the pads of his thumbs over your already solid nipples.  
“Fuck, I’m going to come,” you sighed, throwing your head back in glorious frustration at the first teasing suggestions of your climax. 

Hvitserk took your warning seriously, practically pushing you off of him.  
"Some other time, then," he promised. 

Just like the lynx you’d imagined him to be earlier, he swiftly positioned himself behind you and you started to get up on all fours, ready for what you assumed he wanted… but instead he kneeled behind you, shoved your shoulders into the mattress and hucked up your hips. Your legs, he bent up hard and anchored your feet against his knees, positioning you like a frog. He grasped the front of your thighs, locking you into place. You knew your most private parts were completely exposed to him, but the way his voice growled as he told you to lay still let you know he approved of the view. 

The way he had you bent and contracted, shortened your insides and when he slid into you, he felt nearly twice too long for you. Your fingers dug into the sheets and balled a handful up as he stroked into you. You couldn’t move at all, the way he had you pinned, but his motions were enough to bring you to the brink.  
“Can you do it, Eira? Can you?” he leaned close and pleaded in your ear.  
“What, come? Of course, my prince. I can come all over you in about three seconds if you keep going.” He grunted at that and you knew you’d answered incorrectly.  
“No, Eira. Can you call me by my name, make us equals as you come?” 

Your mind was swimming, but you took a deep breath, summoned the strength to answer him and honestly at that. He stopped moving within you, hung on your answer.  
“Truthfully? I don’t know, my sweet Prince. Just bury yourself within me and show me how you feel about me. If you bring me to the brink with that, I swear, anything I say there is what I really feel in my soul.”


	5. A Vulnerable Viking

Hvtiserk, newly motivated, released your legs and you gratefully stretched them to their full length under his. He snaked one hand underneath your belly, anchoring it on your hipbone, grabbed one of your hands in his other, laced the fingers and brought it above both of your heads. He stashed his head in the crook of your neck and kissed it once. He slammed into you and then breathed an apology into your ear.  
“I know I said I’d go slowly tonight, Eira, and that was truly my every intention, I swear it on my blade. Then I tasted you, watched you come, and I can’t hold back any longer. I can’t bear to go slow any more.” 

You felt love, lust, passion, fill you, fuel you then and you arched your hips into him in permission. The lynx in his soul pounced and thrust into you with the power of five Vikings. You shuddered against his quick thrusts, let him pin you into the bed with his power. Your climax built within you quickly, rushed through you powerfully, masterfully summoned by your Hvitserk. As you lost yourself, you let him know. It shot through your limbs from your core, like lightning bolts from your belly to the tips of your fingers and toes. 

“Hvitserk!” You had no control of it coming out of you and you nearly shouted it. You pulled your linked hands down to your mouth and bit his knuckle in an attempt to anchor yourself to anything. He groaned, gritted his teeth, trying to prolong his pleasure a bit longer, but the sound of you saying his name, the bite, and the firm clenches of your release around his cock were too much and it all tempted his own out in a surrender.

Your climax was the more powerful of the two, you could tell, but his was longer. It started slow but then went on and on for what seemed like nearly a minute. It ended in a forfeiting, but grateful moan as he breathed out your name in a long, slow “Eirrrrrrrrra…” He then collapsed onto you, chuckling into your hair at the intensity of your orgasm and winded by the length of his. 

The two of you lay there quietly for a few minutes, holding on to one another, gathering what wits you had left and trying to sort them back into a semblance of normality. It was Hvitserk that spoke first, trailing a finger south over the swell of one of your breasts, into the dip of your stomach and just barely into the beginning of your amber curls. It was pure pleasure and your knees felt apart slightly, subconsciously. He leaned up on an elbow, looked directly where your thighs met and you smiled, but it was a little unnerving to have him look so intently. You giggled and pulled your legs demurely together, trying to roll one thigh over your sex, shielding it from him slightly. He laughed sweetly at that, kissed your nose.  
“So chaste now? I had you mewling for me earlier, begging and bucking and so very wet…” He continued trailing his fingers through the hair, but not with any lascivious intent, just his admiring fingers exploring it, almost absentmindedly. HIs eyes were warm, appreciative and you sighed.  
“I love this color, Eira,” he said then, still not looking up. “It’s lighter than I imagined." Your heart warmed at his tenderness but also skipped at the thought of him imagining you naked before tonight. You tilt your chin up to him at that, and he leans in, kissing you fully. 

He pulled away bent down into your ear.  
“Can you take one more?”  
You didn’t think you could, but you nodded bravely, not wanting to disappoint your sweet prince. At that, he abruptly changed focus, the one finger that had been casually trailing through your hair changed into his palm sliding fully over your sex, the sudden shift in pressure and intensity making you gasp and raise your hips up to meet him. He smiled at your reaction.  
“Tell me, Eira. Have you ever done this to yourself, alone, before tonight, and thought of me?”  
You gulped, but realized any embarrassment was useless at this point and he enjoyed your honesty anyway, so you bared your truth to him, though quietly.  
“Of course.”  
His eyebrow cocked at that and he licked his bottom lip. “When was the last time?”

You closed your eyes, your logic and memory clouding as Hvitserk ran his palm down over you again, then pressed it up against you firmly, cupping you like you had his balls earlier. You sucked in your breath though as you realized no one had given him the lesson about caution near the back end. And for that you were glad. He dipped a finger lower, slowly and simply around the edge, but pressing hard enough to eliminate any doubt that he meant to be there. Hvitzerk smiled at the newly discovered lands, but brought his hand back up to your most sensitive nub. He repeated himself.  
“When was the last time?” You smiled, the memory flooding back now. He narrowed his eyes at your secretive grin. 

“Eira. Tell me.” It wasn’t a request. You swallowed, trying to distract your thoughts from his circling fingers. “Two days ago. I saw you in the village.” He smiled, remembering the meeting, but he nudged you, nudged your clit with his working fingers on you, encouraging you in the best way to tell the whole story for him. 

“I was on my way back from washing clothes, had a basket on my hip. I-“ your breath hitched as he pressed harder and pleasure flooded through you. He responded by pinching your clit gently, meant to be a light punishment for superfluous details, but still sending a pleasured shock to your core. 

“Continue,” he ordered through gritted teeth. “You slid up alongside of me, ran a hand along my ass…” Hvitserk sped up slightly, circling you a few times, dipping inside of you to check your wetness, then using it on the outside of you again. You steeled yourself to focus, knew not to pause too long again. “My blood throbbed in my veins at the sight and touch of you,” you told him, hoping he was enjoying the story as much as you enjoyed the memory. You continued. “You whispered in my ear you liked my dress, how it showed off my curves, but how you’d rather have me stripped in front of you, laid bare before you on your furs…” you stopped, smiled. “Like I am here now…” You closed your eyes, squirmed under his hand, feeling the furs rub your backside. Hvitserk’s slap, just beyond the border of playful, on the side of your thigh made your eyes fly open. “No more stalling. Tell me the rest. When did you touch yourself?” At his order, you knew better than to tease again. “You got called away by Ubbe and I hurried, practically ran to the nearby barn.” Hvitserk sucked in his breath at that, buried his face into your neck and kept his fingers moving on you. “I went to the back and leaned up against the hay bales. “

“Tell me how exactly you did it,” he demanded in a breathy whisper.

“I hucked up my dress, cupped myself for a moment in one hand…” Hvitserk, Gods love him, reached down and did the same. "I put two fingers inside …” He nodded, slid two of his inside, making you gasp. Even though his cock had stretched you far more earlier, his fingers were so much more intimate. You took a deep breath knowing what you'd done next and the thought of him doing it made your belly fill with warmth.

“I fucked myself with them,” you breathed as he did the same, following your lead. He was a bit too quick, so you added “slowly,” and to your inner thrill, he slowed, smiling. “With the same hand, I teased my clit with my thumb,” and just like you’d said, Hvitserk obliged. “I imagined your hands on me, your mouth on my breasts…” and then his lips were doing just that. This was the best game you’d ever played, you decided. Hvitserk chuckled then, reading your thoughts again, curse him. 

“And then?” he drawled out in a long breath. “And then I got closer and closer..." he nodded, his eyes on you intensely. "And then I came…” you said almost matter of factly, teasing him just a tiny bit. He increased his thumb's pressure as sweet punishment while his inner digits massaged the small, secret spot deeper inside. You stretched your arms longer and higher above you, savoring it, then lowered them and anchored them to the mattress to help raise your hips off the bed slightly, holding them up until your climax flooded you and you pulsed over his hand.

The fire had nearly died out and was now just glowing embers, giving the room, and your lover’s body a delicious glow. You both lay nearly silent on the furs, just holding each other, both barely hanging onto the last shred of consciousness. You were actually about to let your heavy lids and exhausted body get the best of you and slide off into sleep but your casual hand drifted near his hip wound and he spoke up, startling you into alertness. 

“That really shook me today, Eira.” 

Your eyes wanted instinctively to dart up to his, to show him it was okay he was talking about it, to show him how much you cared and supported him, but you knew even mentioning it was the most he could bear. So you kept your eyes down, kept tracing his body with your hands seemingly casually, fighting the urge to pull him to you and let him weep like you knew he wanted to. You let only a simple “mmm?” escape your lips and when you felt the tension balled up in his body release, you knew you’d made the right choice. 

“That Saxon, he was good. As good as me, maybe better. Maybe as good as even my father. It actually pained me to kill him, he was an honor to fight and an admirable opponent.” You leaned up ever so slightly from your perch on his ribs and rolled your head over, kissing his skin lightly. You tried to keep your breathing steady although your heart was pounding with the amazement at how intimate Hvitserk was being with you. You’d never known any Viking to talk about a battle wound, and you’d shared beds with many of them afterwards. Knut, for the love of the Gods, had bled all over you as he fucked you a few months back, completely ignoring a deep wound that had reopened on his arm. 

Sure, sometimes the men in the hall would chide each other about close scrapes and such, or as the drinking continued, blather on about how valiant they or their companions were, how they’d honored the gods with their bravery, and so on. But never, never had one said they were scared, or complimented the enemy’s talent. And you loved your Hvitzerk for it. You kept trailing your fingers on him, on his chest, on all the ember-illuminated skin above the furs at his waist. Your touch encouraged him and he continued. 

“He was swift on his feet like a weasel, must have had the eyes of an eagle, and the strength of a bear. The moment I first felt our steel clash, I thought I might be outmatched.” He paused at that, and you heard him try to suppress a gulp. 

“He pushed me back hard and I lost my footing. I was very lucky there was a throng of other fighters behind me for their backs kept me from falling on my ass into the mud. I got shoved right back into him by the crowd and after what felt like ages, but was probably thirty measly seconds of fighting, I felt tired for the first time I can remember.” 

He paused then and you realized he was waiting for you to laugh, mock him, run out and tell the village he was a frightened child in battle. You did the opposite, reaching your hand down under the furs, putting your hand his cock. He jolted with shock, let out a hard, surprised exhale. You worked him expertly, but also handling him with more force than usual. You knew your hand would be sore soon, but you had to let your Hvitserk know he was still all man to you. You let out a long moan and gripped him tightly. He sucked in his breath through his teeth and you smiled secretly at the speed with which he got entirely hard. You wanted to tell him to tell you the rest, but didn’t dare speak, so you simply slowed your hand on him. 

“He outmaneuvered me.” He admitted in a tight voice. “He was, he was incredible, so fast, I almost questioned his humanity. He anticipated my every move, even the ones I save for the best fighters.” You listened intently, hung on his every word, but continued your motions below the furs.  
“Anticipated them all save one. I will thank the gods every day until the day I do die for the ability to dodge his death strike. Eira, I honestly don’t know if they gave me the foresight to see it coming or simply picked me up and moved me the smidge to the right to avoid it and only get this small scratch. Either way, I am alive because of it.” A thankful breath escaped you then before you could stop it.

You felt your courage ball up into your center and you rolled over on top of him, and before he could say or do anything, you grabbed and guided him inside of you. He didn’t gasp or widen his eyes at the unexpected sensation, maybe too shocked entirely you thought. When you finally did dare to steal a look at him, you saw nothing but total gratitude in his emerald eyes. You closed your eyes then, tossed your head back and rode him, your palms on his chest. Hvitserk’s breath hitched a bit, but he continued. You kept your eyes closed, just rocked your hips against his. 

“The look on his face was that of pure shock that he hadn’t killed me and that split second was all I needed to take his life. I thrust my sword right under his breastbone. But he was so thick of muscle I had to shift, brace the palm of my left hand on the end of the handle to thrust it in.” 

He sniffed then and you knew he was about to cry, but you didn’t dare look at him. You simply placed one hand right under Hvitserk’s breastbone, right where he’d sunk his sword into the Saxon, and pressed. The pressure of your hand there brought out the smallest hint of a sob from him and when you dared look down at your beloved, his eyes were squeezed tight against just that, tears just barely seeping out along the edges of his eyes. The sound and the sight of his tears sent you over the brink and your release was a long sigh, edged with your own sob. 

Hvitserk’s hands urgently grasped your hips at the sound and the feeling. He kneaded them so hard you felt your bones flex and you realized how deep his need was for you. Not your body, but YOU. You rolled, swayed against him even though every nerve of yours was oversensitive. 

“My heart actually broke at it, and the only thing that lets me feel all right with it is the look in his eyes when he slid off my sword and died, like he-“ his voice dropped to a whisper at the thought “respected me, was sorry, and knew I felt the same way.” His breathing changed then, so you bent at your waist, grabbed the sides of his face in your hands and kissed him as he came.


	6. The Old "I Have an Early Meeting" Excuse

You woke the next morning to the soft sounds of rustling furs and flipped lazily from your back to your stomach, towards where you thought Hvitserk would be, next to you. You hadn’t even opened your eyes yet and when your patting hands felt empty space, just the furs, they flew open. Your eyes caught Hvitserk, seated at the end of the bed, fully dressed, lacing up his boots. After the intimacies of last night you forgot your place, and you pulled up to sitting, gathering the furs around your nakedness. He clearly registered you being awake but cowardly refused to look over. You felt an edge in your heart sharpen and you narrowed your eyes at him. 

“Where are you going?” you breathed, low and harsh. He stood and for a moment, you thought he might actually leave without even a word. He could beat you for it, but you didn’t care and dared to ask again.  
“Hvitserk!”  
He looked over his shoulder, face blank. “I’m late. Ubbe and Ivar want to meet in the glade and spar, talk.” 

“Bullshit!” you spit at him, ready for his admonishing slap. He was buckling on his scabbard, and when you said that, you saw his hand grasp the handle firmly, not like he would unsheath it and kill you, but more that he had to distract his hands from slapping you senseless for your disrespect. And more for making him face his own cowardice, you knew. Your anger seethed through you.  
“Go ahead and hit me, Hvitserk!” you sneered at him. You watched as all his anger and fear balled up in his usually beautiful features. His broad forehead creased, his perfect, expressive, teasing mouth that had brought you to ecstasy just hours ago now tensed in a frown, his deep green eyes, so warm and wanting were now clouded with pouting fury, and those strong fingers that had stroked the strongest releases out of you now curled into fists. 

You released the one weapon you had. You dropped the furs, knelt before him on the bed fully nude. His eyes flitted coldly over your body but when they met yours, you noticed the struggle to stay distant.  
“Remember this, my Prince? Just hours ago you took it all in your sweet hands, summoned my pleasure your talented mouth, cleaved me apart with your phenomenal cock… And you came from this mouth, under these long fingers, lost yourself in me. And right here…” you tapped your chest with one finger so hard it hurt. “You touched this, went where no man had." Your voice wavered just a touch on the last word, angering you immensely. You thought you saw a slight pained glint in his eyes at that, but he quickly forced it away. "But no," you spat. "you go ahead and leave and may the Gods curse you for it.” 

Your breath heaved harder than it had with any orgasm he’d given you.

Within Viking law, he could beat you within an inch of your life right now. But he gaped at you for a moment, narrowed his eyes again, then turned on his heel and slammed the door on his way out. You slumped back onto the furs, feeling tears spring at your eyes, but you huffed out your breath and swiped them away angrily. It was nearly dawn and clearly, even after everything last night, you were still a slave. There was work to be done and so you got up, splashed water from the bucket on your face and between your legs, washing off what you could of that bastard. You slipped into your dress and strode out into the main hall to begin your day. 

Runa was the first one you saw, thankfully, just in the hallway. You couldn’t handle the sight of any men right now. You could hear many of them drunkenly snoring around, either stashed in corners or lucky enough to have found a bed and a thrall. 

Runa practically leapt into your arms in a grateful hug. She didn't notice your tensed muscles at your sides or your exasperated eye roll as she gushed about the man you hated now. "Oh Eira! You have to thank Hvitserk for me. He sav-" you frowned and cut her off.  
"I hope crows pluck out his eyes and his cock shrivels up and falls off." 

She pulled away as if she’d been poked with a needle and gapes at you. "Wow. Was he that bad?"  
You huffed and rolled your eyes at her and started to stride off. She pulls at your dress, apologizing. "Eira, I'm sorry. I was just joking." She looked deeper into your eyes then and squeezes your forearms at the hurt she sees.  
"What did he do to you?!" she breathes, her voice tense and low.  
"He made me fall in love with him." Runa chuckles at that. "You were already in love with him." 

"No, not like this. Deeper, and last night he fell in love with me too." Runa lets out a little excited squeal and you shake your head. She always been a little slow on the uptake. "This morning, he stared at me like I was any whore and left." 

"Oh Eira, I'm sorry. He's probably just scared. Those Ragnarsson are a tough bunch, having to live in their father's shadow their whole lives, now having to live here under Queen Lagertha... they're always on edge, about to strike." 

She smiles coyly at that and links her arm in yours as you walk down the hallway.  
"Ubbe struck last night." 

You smiled at that, the thought of the second Ragnarsson and your sweet friend stealing you gratefully away from your anger and heartbreak for a moment. Ubbe was known to be kind, but perhaps a bit weak because of that amongst the Viking. He was a good fighter, not as good as Hvitzerk and not as cunning or vicious as Ivar. But he was kind for sure and after Runa's close call with Ivar last night and even Hvitzerk's salvation beating, she needed a gentle soul. He might not have fallen deeply in love with her as you'd thought Hvitserk had last night... no, you corrected yourself, you KNEW he had... and that made it harder, you thought, your heart clenching in your chest. 

Runa had at least had a lovely morning, waking in her lover's arms, and even if it wasn't the love you'd had with Hvitserk last night, she was at the very least afforded a bit of respect, getting kissed, thanked and left feeling satisfied and beautiful, not used and tricked. 

“I’m happy for you, Runa, really.” You squeezed her back as the two of you reached the kitchens. Some of the other servants were already up and working, the younger, prettier ones looking like they’d had late nights as well. One girl, Bergljot, a pretty blonde all of fourteen years old, walked gingerly in just then and you knew instantly she’d been used a few times. That slight, limping waddle was one from a soreness between your legs if you’d been subject to more than two Viking in one night. You turned slightly then and you noticed she tenderly licked a nasty split lip as she began stoking the fire. You shook your head at all your lot in life, knowing if you focused on it too long, you’d probably go out to the harbor and drown yourself. You sighed and submitted to cleaning up some ale cups and plates that hadn’t been cleared the night before. One cup was nearly full still and you offered it to Bergljot with a sympathetic smile. She smiled back and gratefully chugged the entire cup. 

You busied yourself the entire day with preparations for the second night of feasting. It had been such a great victory in battle the day before that Queen Lagertha had gifted the people with another celebration. All the men and free women cheered the announcement, but you and the other servants took deep, bracing breaths at the prospect of another full day of slaughtering, cooking, cleaning, and another night of serving food, drink and fucking. 

You were so busy all day, you practically hadn’t had time to think of Hvitserk, although as you wrung a few chickens' necks, you did imagine his throat in your hands. You didn’t let your thoughts go any further though for fear of collapsing in tears in the hall. Before you knew it, it was nearing dusk and the other servants quickly all retreated to the bunk room to freshen up. It was a delicate undertaking… you wanted to be attractive enough so as not to anger any men, or the Queen, but you also didn’t want to be so attractive that you enticed too many of them. You cursed your curves a bit as you smoothed your dress. They were impossible to hide. 

“Does my lip look awful?” Bergljot asked shyly coming up to you. You smiled bravely at her. “No. You’re still gorgeous, honey.” She frowned at that. “I wish I was hideous, with warts all over or some hideous deformity so I could just be a kitchen maid, scrubbing pots or tending goats all day.” You chuckled at that, tossed an arm around her and squeezed. “I know, Bergljot, it’s a tough adjustment. I was about your age when the men started noticing me too. I’m sorry you had a rough night.” An idea struck you just then and you pulled her down to one of the mattresses. 

“Now, you need to decide, which hurts worse right now, down there or your lip?” She furrowed her brow at you. “Probably down there. I had Hagen and then Stigr last night.” You winced in sympathy at Stigr. Good gods, you’d had him just a few months ago and he was a hulking man, one of the ones you’d thought of when you were admiring Hvitserk’s lynx like body. Stigr was young, just seventeen, but a grizzly of a man. He’d stretched you beyond nearly your own capabilities and when drunk, was agonizingly slow to come. You couldn’t imagine him inside this tiny thing beside you. Bergljot saw your look and nodded.  
“I cried out and pulled away and that’s when he smacked me,” she said touching her lip gently.  
“Bergljot, I’m going to teach you a few things, do you mind?” Her eyes got wide but she nodded. “It will help,” you continued. “If you know a few of these things, you’ll be more ready for them, and it won’t take as long. When they’re happy, they’re less likely to hurt you.” She looked pleased at that. “Okay, so when you first have a man in your hands, cup his balls and with one or maybe two fingers… “ 

You taught her everything dear Erlend had told you, and sent her off into  
the wolves den of the hall that was now filling with men ready for the night. You hoped she’d have a better night and maybe in time, even enjoy it a little bit herself. Surveying the crowd as you grabbed a pitcher of ale, you steeled yourself with a deep breath, a straightened spine and a silent prayer to be on the other side of the room as Hvitserk.


	7. If One Dodges, the Other Dies

It hadn’t mattered though where you’d been assigned to serve. He made a beeline for a table in your area when he saw you. He didn’t actually look at you, but you knew he’d seen you. He was sitting with a few friends, and he was looking particularly full of himself. He leaned back, tossed his heels up onto the table and kicked one down hard, twice on the wood, summoning you. 

“Eira! Ale!” he called, a slight snarl in his voice. You hustled over, smiled noncommittally at the group and began pouring. Hvitserk moved his on purpose as you were pouring, trying to make you spill, but you were quicker and pulled back just in time. The other men laughed.  
“Ah! She’s quick, lads, I tell ya. Those hands are agile for sure.” He narrowed his eyes at you for a moment and you battled to keep your expression neutral.  
“But!” he continued. “If you want to know where her talent really lies? It’s in those little. Pink. Lips.”  
Hvitserk tipped his cup in your direction thrice, once at each word. “Which ones?” Sveinn joked, grabbing you around the waist and pulling you towards him. You felt his broad palm snake over your hip and to your groin as the men roared in laughter. You glanced at Hvitserk who eyed you over his cup, his eyes dancing a bit, first with a sick little enjoyment of the tete-a-tete with you, thinking he was winning but you watched his eyes turn subtly to anger as he watched Sveinn’s hand and then disgust at himself when he realized he was responsible for all of it.

You felt a flame of humiliation threaten to paint your neck and chest at the public fondling, but you shoved the sensation down and let it kindle in your belly instead, transferring from a pink flush of embarrassment to the white hot heat of silent, dangerous rage. Two could play this game and Hvitserk would lose. You arched your hips forward into Sveinn's palm, and spread your legs slightly for him. He made a made an childish, excited "wooo" noise in his throat at the invitation and delved his hand deeper. You leaned closer to his ear and made the the small moan coming out of you sound as real as possible even though Sveinn revolted you. “Maybe you can sample both later, and decide for yourself.” With that you turned on your heel and moved to the next table to pour ale. You stole a tiny glance back over to Hvitserk and reveled in his searing, seething look. You'd taken that round for sure, but the victory was bitter. 

You realized for a moment that you’d almost rather be at the hands of Ivar then a childish, scared and hurt Hvitzerk. Almost, you thought, watching Ivar toy with Inge across the room. Man, what was it with those Ragnarsson, you wondered. Having a legendary warrior king father who’d cheated on his barren first wife just to get heirs, then abandoned you as children really did a number on your psyche. As if he’d read your thoughts, you heard Hvitserk call for you again, but instead of calling Eira, he had a new nickname for you. 

“Oh Little Pink Lips,” he beckoned loudly, making the men around him at other tables take notice and laugh along with his group. You looked over, narrowed your eyes for only a moment and watched in disgust as he poured the last half his cup onto the table. 

“I seem to have spilled my drink,” he said with a smirk. You took a slow deep breath and realized it was going to be a long night. You filled his cup again, went to leave but he protested. “Why don’t you have a drink with us, Little Pink Lips?” the men chuckled. “I’d love to, MY PRINCE,” you said overemphasizing that he’d clearly divided you back again in terms of equality. He smiled at that, but slapped your hand away when you stupidly reached for an empty cup.  
“You can lap that up,” he said pointing to the puddle of ale now pooled in a natural hollow on the wood table. “You’re clearly eager to show off your talented tongue to my friends.” He smiled cockily and you stubbornly refused to let him win. You gently picked up his legs off the table, put them down, his curious eyes on you. His eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline as you stepped one leg over his lap and bent at the waist, the curvy expanse of your ass right in his face. Utterly shocked, he sat up and strained to look over it as you made eye contact with Sveinn again and lapped and slurped up the puddle noisily. You wiped the side of your mouth with your thumb, smiled at Sveinn whose eyes were huge. Before stepping back, you glanced over your shoulder and saw Hvitserk quickly compose his also-awestruck face. 

“Good girl.” Hvitserk said flatly, and dismissed you with a slap of your ass. 

You subtly stepped right on one of his boots on your way, making him yelp and scoot back. 

You hurried out the back door as slowly and controlled as you could and vomited into the snow. If you’d had the luxury of time and freedom, you would have cried. 

Since Hvitserk hadn't seen you vomit or cry, you think you won that round as well, but you were tiring of the game. You didn't want to have this with him, you wanted last night back, him taking your body and your heart in his hands and handling them carefully, then pushing to heights previously unknown. You wanted a man who would bare his soul before you, then strip you naked and make you come hard enough to see stars. As you glanced across the room and saw him, the bile rose in your throat again. His head was tossed back in laughter as Tarben Olafsson mimicked your motions from earlier, straddling and waggling his enormous ass in Hvitserk’s face. He was better than this, you'd thought. 

The rest of the night was slightly easier for the most part, Hvitserk switched tactics and ignored you, either being too drunk, bored, or perhaps, you hoped, feeling awful about how he’d treated you? Maybe a combination of the three? Every time you visited the table now, he either looked away, purposefully started a conversation with someone else as you walked up, or took a sip of his ale. Your chest hurt at that and you realized, his contempt was worse than hatred. You’d almost rather he be mean than simply dismiss you without a thought. At least his meanness meant there was some feeling there, some hurt you could try to explore, help him through, love him through, forgive him for. Contempt meant there was nothing there in his heart at all, nothing to work with, no where to go from here. 

There was no indifference in Sveinn’s eyes though and your stomach fluttered, not in a good way, whenever his eyes met yours. He looked at you sideways, like a hawk in a high branch watching a mouse. The thought frightened you momentarily, but you straightened your shoulders and reminded yourself you were no longer a scared fourteen year old. Yes, you were a Viking thrall, a powerless servant, but you could handle these men and their roving hands, eyes, physical needs. Feeling newly emboldened, you went over to refill the ale and unnecessarily nestled your ample hips between Sveinn and Tarben to reach their cups. Tarben ignored you, his eyes on young Erika across the way. Sveinn cleared his throat though and before you turned his attentions to him, you glanced at Hvitserk. He actually looked completely miserable for a moment and your heart leapt. But then he noticed you watching and shifted in his chair so hard it squeaked on the floor. He took a deep sip of ale and returned his face to neutral. You decided again to be daring and kept staring at him. His eyes flitted nervously around for a moment then met yours. They melted for exactly one full heartbeat. You took that exact moment to turn to Sveinn. 

“Yes, sir?" You asked turning to Sveinn. He pulled you onto his lap and Hvitserk’s chair squawked against the floor again, this time harder. You glanced over and saw a desperate man in love about to leap across the table and pummel poor, unknowing Sveinn. You reached over and ran one hand through Sveinn’s hair to distract him for a moment, and shifted slightly to make sure your body blocked him from seeing Hvitserk’s face. Tarben was still oblivious, trying to reach out to tug one of Erika’s braids. Thorpe, on Hvitserk’s side had thankfully been over served and had his head on the table as he snored. Sveinn reached up and enjoyed cupping your breast in one hand, so you took the chance and glanced back over your shoulder to your love. His intense glare at Sveinn thrilled and confused you, but you decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. You let out a slightly insistent mmmm to get Hvitserk’s attention, but kept it neutral enough that Sveinn might think it was for him as he moved up to also kiss your neck.  
Luckily, Hvitzerk got the hint and locked eyes with you. You took what seemed like the tenth terrifying chance in two days and mouthed “I love you” slowly at him right as he mouthed “I’m sorry,” at you. You both smiled, but then your faces fell in sync at the situation you were now faced with. He frowned at Sveinn as you raised your eyebrows and huffed your breath out through pursed lips. 

Sveinn’s hands grew more insistent, one grasping a breast, the other creeping back to his familiar crevice of your womanhood. Again, Hvitserk came to the rescue just like the other night with Runa. Pulling tricks on fellow Vikings just trying to get their needs met seemed to be his main talent lately you mused as he pounded on the table with a flat hand and said “Hey, Little Pink Lips, get me some meat. Since apparently I’m the only one not getting laid tonight, I might as well stuff myself senseless.” 

You peeled Sveinn’s hands off of you and squeezed his arm to let him think you were sorry. Sveinn frowned but had to acquiesce to a son of Ragnar. You quickly shot off to the kitchen to fix a plate of meat. As you turned to bring it back to Hvitserk, you saw Ubbe steal him away into the shadows, against Hvitserk's protestations. You froze, not sure what to do. If you returned to the table, you’d have to leave the meat and face Sveinn who had a hunger for something else. Dammit, Ubbe you thought. Probably taking Hvitserk off to brag about the night with Runa and thank him for keeping Ivar’s sick paws off her. Knowing Ubbe’s love for reminding his baby brothers how superior he was, that could take a while… you turned to go back to the kitchen and stash the meat back near the fires. 

Most Viking had turned from meat to drink now and all of the servant girls were out in the hall, filling cups and laps. As you slid out the side hallway trying to find Hvitserk, you ran smack into Sveinn. He grabbed you by the arms and at his cold eyes, you felt your blood run cold. 

“I’d like to sample those lips now,” He pulled roughly you into a darker corner, leaned into it and fumbled with his laces at his waist. You looked around desperately for Hvitserk, but saw nothing but a dark hall with a single torch far down the way. Sveinn had shuffled his pants down far enough and his sad, small member poked out from under his flabby belly. He put a firm hand on your shoulder, the only part of him that was firm much at all and he shoved you to your knees. He grabbed your chin hard in his hand and squeezed your lips open. In surrender, you remembered Erlend’s tip about small men and he threw his head back against the stones and groaned. 

“Oh fuck, Little Pink Lips, you’re just as good as Hvitz-“ 

There was a sickening clunk then and he slumped against the stones into the corner. The measly few inches popped easily out of your mouth as he did and you stood quickly, surprised. Hvitserk grabbed your shoulders, turning you and you blinked at him. He twirled and re-sheathed the large-handled knife he'd hit Sveinn with.  
“Buckle up his pants, Eira. We’ll leave him here like he passed out and hit his head. He was drunk enough he won’t remember otherwise when he wakes up.” You kneel down, with shaking hands pull up Sveinn’s pants back into order and stand slowly. 

You wanted to leap into Hvitserk’s arms, but you willed yourself to hold back. He grabbed one of your arms though and you blindly followed him towards his room. As you turned the first corner though, you stopped short, hard, digging your heels into the floor and he turned to you, curious.  
“What is it, Eira?” He searched your eyes. You took a deep breath before talking. 

“I can’t just go back in there with you Hvitserk. Not after what you made me do tonight. What you put me through.” His shoulders drooped and eyes melted again and you knew he was sorry, but you needed more. He of course read that perfectly in your eyes as if you’d said it.  
“Last night scared the shit out of me, Eira.”  
You gaped at him, amazed he’d said it so easily. You loved him for it, it was encouraging, but weren’t ready to go take him into yourself on his furs again.  
“It scared me too, Hvitserk. But I didn’t humiliate you, I didn’t play with you in front of my friends and make you feel small. Even if I could have, I wouldn't have. I didn’t make you doubt everything and threaten what we’d had together.” 

Hvitserk ran both his hands through his loose hair, locked his fingers behind his head, sucking in his breath and tossing his head back against the wall. He looked completely tortured, ruined but you couldn’t pull him into your arms like you wanted to. He’d made you suffer and you while it pained you, you needed him to understand the pain he’d caused, the doubt. 

He reached for you then, pulled you into a deep kiss and it all felt so wonderful, packed with such promise that you let yourself go. Your hands went to his braids like they always did when you really, really lost yourself. 

No! Your brain screamed at you through the lusty fog. You pulled back slightly and your eyes fell. Hvitserk had been kissing you, his hands clutching your back and his breath hitched at your denial, your release of him. He grabbed your chin gently in his hand and pulled it up. His green eyes flickered in the torchlight, absolutely throbbed with the need for explanation.  
“You’re the one who needs to explain themselves, not me, my Hvitserk,"  
you whispered. He closed his eyes, struggling and unsure. You felt a sadness and disappointment flood you, and tears sprung to your eyes at the thought of what you'd have to do. If he couldn't realize he was safe with you and that you needed to feel safe with him, then he could never possess your soul again like last night. Sure, you were a thrall and he could fuck you whenever he wanted, but it would never be all of you again. 

A sob threatened in your throat and out of pride, you were just about to turn and run when he reached out, eyes still closed and touched the small spot on you where he’d run his sword through the Saxon, right under the ribs. Then he placed his other hand on top and pressed harder into you, like how he had to kill the Saxon by shoving his free hand onto the hilt of his sword. You got the message. "I respect you. I don’t want to fight you any longer. I submit to my fear and so must you." And finally, "I will take care of you." 

Your eyes flew open and locked with Hvitzerk's. You felt a sympathy for all Viking men then, one that had never occurred to you. How awful a thing to have to kill other men in close combat, to have to be inches from their pleading eyes as you killed them, had to, or die yourself. All simply because you believed different things… or simply had to follow the orders of men who did. You understood now why many of them were so seemingly heartless, closed off, cruel. It was why many of them just let themselves surrender to being vicious animals in battle, and why some men like Floki had to bury their minds in religious fervor. And that was also what broke Ragnar. He'd grown to love and respect Athelstan, the captive Christian monk and Ragnar couldn't reconcile the two lives any longer. 

You placed your hands on Hvitzerk in the same spot, pushed back, pushed him into the wall, not breaking eye contact at all. The breath flooded from his lungs as if he'd died and you followed suit. Then he reached up with one hand and gently stroked the side of your face with his fingers. 

"If you and I fight, there's no winner, Eira. One dodges and the other dies or vice versa. If we’re at war, we can’t both survive. We’re both too good at hurting each other, too good at protecting ourselves." He paused then, squeezed your hand. 

“I’ll have to fight men the rest of my life. But with you, I choose peace and with you I choose love." He kissed you, mouth closed, tenderly, then pulled back, locked into your gaze. "I love you, my Eira.” Your sharp intake of breath at his proclamation and his hands rucking up your skirts were nearly in the same moment. Your fingers flew to his laces, untying them, shuffling down his pants and reaching down, desperate for him in your palm. He was hard as rock, thicker and hotter than you’d remembered. Your breath and your bones’ solidity seemingly left your body entirely as you ran your firm hand along him and he panted under it. Wondering, you cupped his balls in your hand, let your fingers venture ever so slightly further back and with more obvious intent than before, testing him. He didn’t shirk from you but surrendered to it, first lowering his head and pressing the top of it into your shoulder, then pulling his head up quickly and staring at you, your explorations making his muscles liquify and his breath come up short. 

Gods love him then, for he grabbed you forcefully like the Viking you loved, and switched places, pressing your back into the stones. You slung a leg over his hip, reached down and guided him into you. He bent like a bow, hips and shoulders towards you, then hips slammed against you, sighed a long, breathy “fu-uh-uhckkkkkk” into your ear. He reached around, grabbed you under your thighs and picked you up. As he did, he thrusted against you so deeply, you felt your pelvic bones smack. Your hands clabbered against the stone, one hand found purchase on a rim of a rock above your shoulder, so you anchored and levered your weight against it. The other hand failed to find a grip and fell back against Hvitserk’s broad shoulders. It felt loose, lost and ebbing until you knitted the fingers into his braids, as always finding home there. His mouth found yours then and you moaned against his lips, his tongue, as an intense heat seared through where you were joined. 

You both had only moments to savor it before your very souls shook, your entire being exploded around him, onto him, and him into you. 

You were reduced to pulp in his arms, feeling nothing was solid within you except your love for him and it held you aloft, kept you from flowing to the ground in a puddle. Your tortured Hvitserk now slumped against you, dropped your legs and pressed his palms into the wall for support. He gulped for air and practically trembled above you. 

After just a few moments where you both gasped your breath back into your lungs and your muscles filled with the strength to hold you both upright again, Hvitserk put an impossibly strong hand to the back of your head and pulled you to his lips, kissed you gently, sweetly. Before you had a moment to gather your scrambled mind, he swept you up into his strong arms and you dissolved into another kiss. You wondered vaguely how he was possibly holding you as you felt like complete mush. Your darling, strong Hvitserk carried you all the way to his room, took off your clothes, then his own. He laid you down between the soft furs by the fire, intertwined his loose limbs with yours and you both released yourselves to the bliss of sleep.


End file.
